


Nine Circles of Hell

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Community: daredevilkink, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Shingles, Sickfic, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the stress of being a lawyer by day and a vigilante by night rears its ugly head in the form of a nasty infection that is adamant to set Matt’s nerves on fire. And thus the journey through the nine circles of hell begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Circles of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Contains spoilers for all of season 1  
>  **Author's Note:** Written for the daredevilkink meme prompt [“Any/Gen, Matt gets shingles”](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=4528840#cmt4528840).  
>  Full disclosure: I’ve never had shingles (and would like to keep it that way, thank you very much), so I hope the medical part of this is even remotely accurate. If not, complaints can be left in the little cardboard box by the door. Also, I should probably not be writing Matt whump while my sinuses are being ravaged by pesky head colds that suck the fun out of life, the universe and everything.  
> I suppose I kinda filled this prompt as well, if you look very closely: [“Matt and Karen: She finally tells him off for how he talks to her.”](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/2760.html?thread=4509384#cmt4509384) A little bit. I hope. There's a few more prompts that inspired bits and pieces in this fic, but not enough to call it a fill for all of them, but I'd like to thank all the anons for providing so much inspiration.  
> On a different note, when I started writing this, I hadn’t intended for it to become this long. But then stranded-at-home Matt started talking to everyone, and it turns out there was a _lot_ they all had to say! Because I’m impatient and wanna get it out there, this hasn’t been beta-read. Concrit or calling me on any errors is more than welcome. Reviews and comments always make my day.  
> 
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

It started with a tingle of sorts. A faint prickle just below his ribs on his right side.

Matt didn’t make anything of it. Maybe it was a bruise that hadn’t fully healed, or just some skin irritation. A delayed reaction to the epidermis having been sewn together one too many times in the same approximate spot. Of course he couldn’t see if there was any discoloration, but he couldn’t feel anything, so he figured it’d go away.

It didn’t.

A day later, it began to burn, then hurt. The pain was localized, and the skin was sensitive to the touch. It was then that it started to dawn on him that maybe it wouldn’t just go away by itself.

He called Claire, because whatever it was, he would always call her first. He hated doing it for something as trivial as this, but he had the feeling she didn’t mind too much. Or at least she never made him feel like he was being a burden.

“It sounds like it could be shingles,” she told him right off the bat. “Have you had chickenpox in the past? As a kid, maybe?”

“I’m not sure. Not that I can recall, but maybe I was too young to remember.”

“They’re caused by the same virus, so if you’ve already had chickenpox, when it reoccurs it usually presents as shingles. Do you know if there’s a rash? Blisters? Anything like that?”

“I don’t feel any blisters. Not sure about a rash,” he told her.

“This is gonna sound weird, but can you take a picture with your smartphone and send it to me?”

He frowned, but maybe it wasn’t a half bad idea. “Yeah, okay, hold on.”

It took a few minutes for him to get the picture to her, but eventually she received it and gave him her opinion. “Hate to break it to you, but it sounds and looks a lot like shingles. Which isn’t exactly my area of expertise, so I’m afraid you’ll have to see a real doctor this time.”

He drew a face. He hated doctors. The waiting room, the misery, the smells. All of it, the whole experience. Claire’s voice pulled him from his reverie. “You’re not going, are you?”

“Not unless it’s life-threatening.”

She sighed, and he could hear it. “Matt, listen. Shingles can be extremely painful, and I’m talking about normal people. I _really_ recommend you see a doctor for this. I can come with you if you like. Distract you. Or something.”

His mouth drew into a brief smile. “Thanks, Claire.”

“There’s a ‘but’ in there, I can hear it.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“No, Matt, there isn’t. They usually prescribe antivirals and numbing agents, narcotics if it’s very painful. I said I’d help if you need me, but that doesn’t go as far as losing my job over stealing prescription painkillers.”

He wasn’t a complete jerk. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Look, I can come by after my shift tonight, see how you’re doing.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll live.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

She sighed again. “I wish you weren’t such a blockheaded idiot.”

“Thanks, Claire.”

“No, I mean it. If this gets halfway as bad as I think it will, with the stress you’re under, you’ll regret it sooner rather than later.”

“You know what they say about crossing bridges.”

Her voice was suddenly terser. “Okay, fine, your choice. Anything other than prescription drugs and unheeded advice I can do for you today?”

“Claire...”

“Look, I have to go. Take it easy for a while, that’s the least you can do.”

“I will.”

They signed off, and Matt was left with a stinging pain emanating from his torso and a more arduous task of putting his work-suitable clothes on than it should be.

+-+-+-+-+

By the time he made it to the office, he wished he had never left the house. The pain was agony, but a whole different kind than the dull ache of a deep tissue bruise or the sharp sting of a cut from a knife. It felt like his skin was on fire, _literally_ on fire.

In the hallway before entering the Nelson & Murdock offices, he tried to adjust his face into something resembling his normal, relaxed expression, hoping the glasses would do their part.

“Hey Matt,” Karen gave him her usual greeting.

Foggy came out of his office, giving Matt a once-over by the looks of it. Was he already suspecting something? “Hey buddy.”

“Hey,” he greeted both of them, putting his cane in the corner with a barely suppressed grimace.

“Feeling okay?” Foggy asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Because you’re a doggone liar, and you’re coming with me to see a doctor right this very second.”

“What? No.”

“Yes, very much yes. This isn’t a debate. You’ve been totally overruled, Murdock. Three to one.”

“Three to one? What—?”

Foggy stepped closer, his arms already reaching out, but then stopping just shy of touching Matt the way he usually would. Foggy knew. He had to know. “Claire called you?”

“Yes, she did, and rightly so. I mean, shingles? That’s, like, super painful, and you could be contagious and stuff. Doctor it is. _Now_.”

“No, Foggy, you know I hate doctors. And you know why.”

“I do, but this is a whole different caliber than... than all those other times. Now get your cane and let’s go.”

Matt knew his protests would be to no avail, and Foggy was actually planting himself protectively in the way to Matt’s office. He sighed. If this day was gonna be hell, he was well underway through all nine circles. He thought he’d already entered the second one. Maybe the third. At this rate, he’d make it to eight by the end of the day.

The clinic’s waiting room was as horrifying as Matt had imagined. He hadn’t been in one for a while, and it tended to be that kind of experience that your selective memory would mercifully forget until the moment you were confronted with it again.

What was even worse was that there was no Foggy lightly touching his elbow or hovering close-by. It was as if Foggy had decided being even within two feet of Matt was gonna give him the plague.

Thankfully, Foggy took care of the paperwork for him while he steered Matt to an empty seat in between a mother with two toddlers and an old man with slumped shoulders. Matt could hear the breath rattling in the old man’s chest with every intake of air. Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, he guessed. Or asthma. Or a very bad bronchitis.

More germs. Just what he needed on top of this.

One of the kids suddenly let out a loud screech, and Matt flinched visibly. It prompted Foggy to mutter, “Oh, geez. I almost forgot.”

He roamed around in his bag, then pulled out a small package. The plastic made a crinkling noise as he held it out to Matt. “Not sure this helps, it’s the best I got.”

Matt took it and ran his fingers across the thin plastic and the two small lumps inside. “What is it?”

“Earplugs. You know, the squishy, foamy ones. Do they help with your... you know?”

Matt smiled gratefully. “Yeah, they’ll help. Thanks.”

“Nothing we can do about the smell, right? I mean, I wasn’t quite ready to buy those synchronized swimming nose clips. Although I’m sure that’d lighten the mood in here considerably. The blind man with the nose clips. Give people something to talk about.”

“Yeah, thanks, Foggy. A nose clip would have been a bit much,” Matt said as he unpacked the earplugs and put them in.

It wasn’t perfect, but at least the noises were now dulled to a bearable level. Which made the pain in his side all the more noticeable because he had more reason to think about it. He wasn’t sure how he would get through the next hour or two.

Resigning himself to his fate, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and out. Even with the earplugs, he could hear Foggy’s pen scraping across the paper. He would ask questions every now and then.

“Are you allergic to anything? I mean, I should know this, but just to be on the safe side.”

“No, not that I’m aware of.”

“Family medical history?”

Touchy subject. “Other than the broken bones?”

“Yeah, I think they mean chronic conditions. Like diabetes, or cancer, or, I don’t know, hypothyroidism.”

“You know I don’t have family other than my dad, right?”

Foggy nodded quietly. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll leave that blank.”

There was more pen scratching, then, “Are you taking any medications?”

“Right now?”

“No, like, generally.”

“You’ve lived in the same room with me for over three years. Have you ever _seen_ me take any medications?”

“Hey, don’t blame me. _They’re_ asking for this shit.”

Matt sighed again. The fourth circle of hell had just been entered. But he also knew that it wasn’t fair to take it out on his friend. His friend who was just doing him a solid that he should be very thankful for. “I’m sorry, Foggy. I just...”

“Yeah, I know. This already sucks for me. I don’t wanna imagine what it’s like for you. I hope this doesn’t take forever.”

Unfortunately, it did. The two hours they had to wait moved Matt through at least another two circles of hell. If it wasn’t the whining children, it was the squeak of the chairs, or the smell of a badly dressed infected wound or the stale stink lodged in the cigar chain smoker’s clothes taking the seat opposite Matt. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the universe of all of humanity’s vilest sensations closing in on him, or the increasing agony in his side.

At some point, he felt a warm and comforting hand on his knee, and he almost wanted to cry. Foggy’s voice was soft, sympathetic. “I think they called your name. Want me to come with you?”

Matt shook his head. “Thanks, I’ll manage.”

“Yeah. I’ll wait here, okay?”

Matt just nodded, put on his brave face, and made his way to the exam room.

The nurse was pleasant and friendly but hurriedly efficient. Thankfully, there wasn’t any of the helpless-blind-guy awkwardness. He probably wasn’t the first blind patient she’d been dealing with.

The doctor’s visit was a joke, really. Ten seconds of poking the most sensitive part of the affected area of skin that had Matt barely able to suppress a moan of pain. More questions that Matt wasn’t sure how to answer.

Had he had chickenpox in the past? Had he been in contact with anyone whom he knew had chickenpox or shingles in the past two weeks? Had he been under a lot of stress lately? Did he have any other symptoms than rash and pain? When did his symptoms begin? Did anything make them better or worse? Did he have other medical problems, past and present?

It took the doctor all of three minutes to confirm it was a herpes zoster infection, also commonly known as shingles. He would be given a prescription for Capsaicin cream and stronger painkillers. Some more advice that he should take it easy for a while and come back if it didn’t get better in the next few days, or if the rash spread to his eyes.

Matt was drained by the time that the nurse took the tissue scrapings that brought the pain back with a vengeance. When she was done, she told him he could get dressed again and handed him a pamphlet with the words, “Do you have anyone who can read this to you?”

Matt nodded. “Yes, I have a friend waiting in the waiting room.”

“Good. You can collect your prescriptions at the front desk.”

She was gone before he could say thank you.

+-+-+-+-+

Foggy took Matt home, which he was more grateful for than he would admit. His brave face was failing him now, and the seventh circle of hell couldn’t be far off. He sat down on the couch, and soon Foggy was there to thrust a glass of water into his hand.

“The package insert said to swallow the tablets with water.”

“Which tablets?”

“Codeine.”

Matt put the glass down on the table. “You know I’m not taking that, right?”

Foggy shook his head incredulously. “You’re in pain, even _I_ can see that. The martyr thing? It really doesn’t look good on you. And I don’t get it. There’s no one here you have to prove anything to, you dumbass.”

“It’s not that. They make my head all muddy, and they mess with my senses.”

“So what if they do. It’s not like you need them while you’re here, right?”

Matt wanted to shake his head, but there was a headache lodged behind his forehead now that made him reconsider. “No, Foggy, you don’t get it. I need them to move around. They’re what your eyesight is to you. It’s like... If I take these, it’s like someone put an impenetrable blindfold on you for two days straight.”

“So you’d rather suffer through nine circles of hell than live with impaired senses for a few days?”

Matt had to smile despite himself at Foggy’s oh-so very apt analogy. “I’m already in the sixth.”

“What?”

“Circle of hell.”

“Dammit, Matt. This isn’t really all that funny. I hate watching you do this to yourself.”

“Are you’re not even the one with half his nerve endings on fire.”

“Will you at least take the damn cream? I think it contains a numbing agent.”

“Yeah, I’ll give that a try.”

Foggy breathed a sigh of relief, then put another cardboard box on the couch table. “This sounds like an antidepressant. I’m guessing that’s a big no-no too?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Oh, and that leaflet? That has jack squat in terms of actual useful information. Other than maybe that you can take comfort in the fact that you’re not alone _. ‘In the U.S., currently 1 million people get shingles every year, and about one out of every three people will get shingles in their lifetime.’_ It’s like welcome to the club. Totally awesome, right?

“I mean, you’re not over 60, and that’s not even by a stretch of anyone’s imagination. I don’t know why they gave this to you. Says, _‘Don’t wait, vaccinate.’_ Yeah. Little late for that. There’s also a borderline offensively happy smiling Asian couple in the top corner. You should be very glad you can’t see it.”

Matt pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, not sure what to try and fail to ignore first—the increasing pain in his head or his side. “Foggy?” he said with an exhausted exasperation to his voice.

“Yeah?”

“Can you be quiet for a moment?”

Foggy stopped where he was, then said in a low voice, “Sorry, I uh... sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. What can I do?”

Matt sat up a little straighter. “Help me get my shirt off to put some of that cream on. There’s latex gloves under the kitchen sink.”

“All right, I’m on it.”

Foggy worked in silence, and Matt could tell he was being as careful as he could. Matt was more than thankful, but every touch still hurt like hell. Seventh circle now. Definitely.

“Sorry,” Foggy whispered when Matt couldn’t help but flinch. “I really hope this helps.”

Yeah, Matt did too.

“Anything else I can do?”

“No. Thanks.”

“Why don’t you go get some sleep? Like actual sleep, on your actual bed.”

Matt groaned. “I’d rather not move right now.”

“Yeah, I feel ya, pal. Just sayin’ you’d be a lot more comfortable there.”

“I know.”

Foggy was by his side in a few steps. “Come on, buddy. You’re not usually this whiny. Which tells me this is either genuine nine circles of hell material that you’re going through, or I’m catching you on an off-day.”

“How about both?”

“Yeah, whatever. Give me your hand. Those ten feet? You can make those with your arm draped around your awesome, self-deprecating, we’ll-never-speak-of-this best bud. Come on.”

“It’s more like eighteen.”

“What’s eight more? Don’t make me carry you.”

Matt stiffened. “I’m gonna crawl before I let you carry me.”

“Ah, there we go. Incentive.”

“All right, all right.”

Matt got up with a groan, refusing Foggy’s help. Foggy was right, he wasn’t usually this sluggish. Or incapable. Some viral infection, this was.

Once he lay on the bed, he was glad to have made the effort. Foggy rearranged some of the pillows for Matt, which made him feel slightly foolish but he indulged his friend. It wasn’t long until Foggy was back, crouching down by his side.

“Okay, Murdock, I know you’re gonna say no, but it’s not open for negotiation, so you might as well swallow down the arguments right now and just do it, okay?”

“Foggy, I’m not taking any narcotics.”

“’We’re not talking narcotics. It’s valerian root. Completely natural and stuff. Plus, I checked with Claire, and she totally okayed it. Come on, you gotta take _some_ thing.”

Matt let out a long breath, but he could already feel himself giving in. “Okay, fine. Just this once.”

He could practically feel Foggy deflating with relief next to him. “Okay, cool. These are drops, I’ll put them on a spoon. Hold on.”

Matt could hear the drips. He involuntarily started counting as the liquid hit the metal surface. Foggy stopped at fifty. “All right, open up.”

Matt obediently did so, and almost gagged when his taste buds reacted to the herbal extract. It was all he could do to swallow it down rather than spit it out. “Ugh,” he muttered when he could find his voice again.

Foggy cringed a little next to him. “That bad?”

“Worse. This is what I imagine sewer tastes like.”

“Damn, I know I should have picked the capsules.”

“Yeah. I’m not taking that again.”

“Then let’s hope it does something. Sweet dreams, buddy. I hope they’re filled with luscious, voluptuous women giving you soothing mud baths.”

Matt let his head sink back against the pillow. He had no craving for mud baths or luscious women. All he wished for was a sensation-numbing hole somewhere nearby he could crawl into and stay for the next week or five.

+-+-+-+-+

When he awoke, the world was swimming in a mist of hazy hues he wasn’t used to. There were no contours to his quasi-vision, or even shapes. Just a massive swirl of undulating color, a throbbing headache that had migrated to the back of his head, and what felt like hundreds of needles piercing the right side of his torso.

His t-shirt was clinging to his back, and he suspected he was running a fever. An involuntary moan escaped his mouth when he tried to prop himself up on his elbows.

“Oh, look, sleeping beauty has awoken,” he could hear Foggy’s voice drifting nearer.

Matt wasn’t in the mood for light-hearted banter. “What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

“In the evening?”

“Yeah.”

“I slept through the whole day?”

“Yeah, you kinda did. Although I’m not sure I would call all of it sleeping. You never used to thrash this much in law school. How are you feeling?”

“Not great.”

“Yeah, I’ll say. You’re running a fever, by the looks of it. Which isn’t all that unusual, if the interwebs can be believed. And by the way, I’ve had chickenpox, so apparently I’m reasonably safe. Unlike you, I remember every miserable second of it. I was ten or eleven, and it royally sucked.”

“You did internet research on shingles?” Matt groaned.

“I’ve been here for hours, with only my laptop to keep me company. Can you really blame me?”

“Learn anything useful? Like an instant cure?”

“Hate to break it to you, but from what I’ve read, you’re gonna be looking forward to at least two weeks of this. Flu-like symptoms, pain, burning, tickling, tingling, numbness, blisters, itching. Did I mention swollen lymph nodes and chronic pain?”

“Enough,” Matt cut him off. “You’re not helping. And I need the bathroom.”

“Need any help?”

“No.” He didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but it came out more callous than he intended. Two weeks of this? It sounded more like thirty-six circles of hell.

Foggy lifted his arms in a defensive gesture. “All right. I’ll be back in the living room. Just holler if you need me.”

Matt softened somewhat. “Sorry, that was...”

“No, it’s cool. You’re cranky. I get it. Don’t wanna swap with ya, so beat on me whenever you feel like it. I can totally take it.”

While Matt was trying to rearrange himself into something reminiscent of a functioning human being, he could hear Foggy talking to someone on the phone. He narrowed his eyes, but his head felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool, and listening to the details took too much effort.

He roamed around in his cabinet and got out the clinical thermometer. At least with some proactivity, he could preempt the humiliation of getting his temperature taken by his best friend.

It took a few minutes until the mechanical female voice announced 101.5. Annoying, but not especially worrisome. He opened the door to the living room, shuffling closer to the table where Foggy was sitting. Matt held up the thermometer.

“I know you’re gonna come pestering me about this eventually, so before you go thrusting medical equipment with pointy ends into my mouth...”

He pushed the button again, and the mechanical voice repeated, “Hundred-and-one point five.”

“Okay, so apparently I’m predictable, but I’ll take what I can get. Not yet time to break out the acetaminophen, I see.”

Matt sat down in one of the chairs with a groan, shivering slightly from a chill washing over him.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? I made some tea.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Come on, you haven’t eaten in, what? Ten hours? At least.”

Foggy was already in the kitchen, pottering about with utensils, dishes and cutlery. Matt let the familiar sounds wash over him without trying to separate them into distinct activities. There was a certain soothing quality to it, and it reminded him of the times he and his father would get up late on Sundays and have breakfast together. Just the two of them with fresh bagels and the smell of coffee and hot chocolate wafting through the kitchen.

Foggy’s voice pulled him from his reverie. “Try to eat some of that, okay? There’s a mug of tea to your right. Not sure if you want sugar.”

Matt reached out with his senses, getting a hazy picture of buttered toast and herbal tea. More out of a sense of duty than actual zest, he took a few bites from the toast and managed to ingest half the mug of tea. And he had to admit that he actually felt a lot better afterwards.

Foggy sat down across from him, putting his palms together in front of him. “So, uh, Claire called. Wanted to know how you were doing. As did Karen. Told them reports of your death were greatly exaggerated.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Yeah, and I actually gotta run. Can I leave you alone for a few hours while I get some stuff sorted out?”

“Foggy, you don’t have to mother-hen me. I’m perfectly capable of—“

“Taking care of yourself, I know,” he interrupted. “You’re like a broken record, Murdock, and I’m not buying that anymore. I mean, seriously, you’re the single-most stubborn person I’ve met when it comes to insisting you’re fine when you’re, like, über-not. So, yeah, I’m ignoring whatever you have to say on the subject. Sue me.”

“I’d rather not. You have that lawyer friend. You know, the attractive, blind one.”

“Humor. I like it. That gives me hope I _can_ actually leave you alone.”

Matt made a vague waving gesture with his hand. “Go. There’s books and radio drama and the whole wide world of the internet to keep me company. According to a certain friend of mine, there’s DVDs now with decent audio narration. I don’t wanna see you back here before tomorrow.”

“I’d suggest cutecatvideos.net, but I’m sure they’re a whole lot less fun if you can’t actually see the cats.”

“I’d rather experiment with bamboo shoots under my fingernails, but thanks.”

Foggy’s voice took on a more serious tone. “No, but seriously. How’s the pain?”

Matt’s face drew into a faint grimace. “Tolerable.” A white lie, but not too much of one.

“Okay. There’s acetaminophen and ibuprofen on the couch table. I checked, they have Braille labels. I left the valerian there too, gave you 50 drops last time. Don’t be a hero.”

Matt’s voice was honest when he said, “Thanks, Foggy.”

Foggy got up from the chair and grabbed his jacket. He was already in the hallway when he turned back. “Call me if you need anything. Even in the middle of the night, okay?”

“Noted. Now go,” Matt urged him.

He allowed himself a small smile after the door closed behind Foggy. As much as he hated being mothered, he had to admit that it made this whole experience a little more bearable. No. A _lot_ more bearable.

+-+-+-+-+

It wasn’t Foggy who dropped by the next morning. Matt recognized her by the way she knocked on the door. One corner of his mouth turned up just slightly at the sound. Karen.

It wasn’t always easy to be around Karen. Foggy and he, they had a shorthand, and Foggy knew how to read him. Or how to purposely ignore how to read him and still not rub him the wrong way. Especially now that Foggy was in the know.

Karen and Matt—they were still getting to know each other. He knew she tried, but he also knew she felt insecure around him sometimes. Afraid to say the wrong thing, or to not say the right thing, or do something he couldn’t see without explaining what it was. It was more difficult with Karen, and he wasn’t sure he could muster the energy to make that extra effort today.

Still, he had no choice but to acknowledge the sentiment. She only meant well, meant to be a friend, meant to be there for him as much as Foggy. How could he not appreciate that?

“Hey,” she greeted him in her soft voice when he opened the door for her. Immediately, he went into regular-blind-guy mode, trying to feel his way around when he didn’t actually need to. What circle of hell was he stuck in again? Seven. Getting closer to eight.

There was a quick exchange of pleasantries, and he offered her a seat at the table while he went into the kitchen, but Karen quickly interjected.

“Oh, no no no. You’re not going to be the one making anything for me today, Matt. You are going to plant yourself firmly on the couch while I play full service housekeeper. Foggy’s instructions were very clear on that.”

Matt had to smile. “Did he make a list?”

“In fact, he did. It’s quite extensive.”

“Is taking my temperature on there?”

She scrolled through it with her finger. “Ask Matt to take his temperature. Number twelve.”

“Great,” Matt sighed. “99.3. You can cross that one off the list.”

“That’s good. Not too high,” she said cheerily. “See, number twelve—check.”

“What’s number one?”

“Don’t believe him if he insists he’s fine,” she admitted hesitantly.

“Yeah, that sounds like Foggy all right.”

“How _are_ you feeling?”

“Fine,” he quipped, and thought that maybe her mouth spread into a smile.

“And how are you really feeling?”

“Tired. Sluggish.”

“Does it hurt?”

He wanted to say ‘like a bitch’, but he didn’t. So he just said, “Yeah.”

She bit her lip, and he could tell it was one of those times where she didn’t know how to respond. She self-consciously fiddled with the piece of paper in her hand, and a certain awkwardness swung in her tone when she said, “There was something on here about painkillers.”

“The pain is fine, Karen. And I’m not just saying that.”

The truth was, he had caved earlier and taken one of the ibuprofen pills. Moving around seemed to agitate his frayed nerve endings, and his joints were aching from within. But he’d slept on and off so much in the past 24 hours that he was sure he was going to implode if he stayed in bed one minute longer. The painkillers ended up being his only option for having a shot at not going crazy either from pain or from boredom.

She gave him a nod. “Okay, let’s say I’m gonna take your word for that. For now. Have you had breakfast?”

“Toast and cheese. Do you want to note down the number of slices? Calorie intake?” It was pure sarcasm, and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself.

But Karen didn’t seem offended. Her voice was upbeat when she said. “Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s put away the stupid list, shall we? That’s not what I came here for.”

He sighed. “No, _I’m_ sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

She laughed awkwardly with a certain relief to it. “Yeah, neither am I. Actually, I’m a terrible nurse. I could never go into the medical profession.”

He suddenly remembered something. “Wait. Have you had chickenpox?”

“Yeah, when I was five. If my mom can be believed, she had to put my hands in woolen mitts so I wouldn’t scratch open the blisters. There’s a bunch of photos in the old photo albums with me covered in red spots. I should bring them to the office, show th— Uh. I mean...”

He gave her an encouraging smile. “It’s fine, Karen.”

“No, it’s not. I hate it when this happens.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“But I should be past that by now. How long have we known each other? I should be able to remember that you’re blind, right?”

“No,” he quickly interjected, “This is a good thing. I don’t want to be the blind guy to you. It’s a compliment, if anything.”

“Really?”

He moved his eyes to where he thought she was sitting. “Really.”

“But it feels like… like I’m not acknowledging who you are as a person. I keep watching you and Foggy, and you navigate around all of that so effortlessly. You interact with people, and it’s like he magically knows when to translate for you, and when not to. I want to be able to do that.”

“Karen, I’ve shared a dorm room with Foggy for years. All of what we have didn’t just ‘magically’ happen. We’ve had our share of awkward moments. More than enough of them. Give it time. It’ll fall into place.”

The corners of her mouth turned upward. “If you say so.”

“I do. You’re doing great. Better than most people. With the possible exception of Foggy.” And Claire, he silently added.

“Okay,” she said with a certain resolution to her voice. “Let’s rewind and try this again. Yes, I’ve had chickenpox. I believe I’m safe for as long as I say away from your bodily fluids. I mean, uh, you know, not _that_ way. Not _any_ way. God, I’m digging myself another hole here. Help me.”

He chuckled lightly. “Maybe we should go back to Foggy’s list after all. Seemed a lot safer that way.”

“Yeah, hey, I like this one. Number eight. Let’s go sit on the couch.”

Matt frowned in confusion, but followed her lead. Things seemed so much easier with the painkillers in his system, even though he could already feel the effects leveling off.

Karen went to the kitchen and opened his freezer, then a few of his kitchen drawers until she found what she was looking for. She went to where Matt was sitting on the sofa and held out something to him.

He wondered for a brief moment if she’d cut her hair, because he couldn’t hear the silky swish that usually came with it, but then he attributed to the ibuprofen that was still coursing through his system. The downside to being relatively pain-free, and the downside he despised so much.

He concentrated on Karen’s voice instead. “Foggy said he stocked your freezer with proper comfort food. Ben & Jerry’s. You’ve got a choice of Chunky Monkey or Phish Food. With a ‘ph’.”

Foggy sure knew Matt’s weak spots. “I think Chunky Monkey seems apt, don’t you?”

She seemed confused. “How so?”

“Wasn’t there that one time when you came here with a balloon?”

“Oh shoot. You remember that? God, that was, uh... That wasn’t my brightest moment.”

He smiled at her. “No, I liked it. No one ever brought me a balloon before.”

She handed Mat the tub of Chunky Monkey and a spoon, then sat down in one of the armchairs to open the other tub for herself. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her, putting a spoonful of the creamy dessert into her mouth. “Ice cream just seems to make everything better, doesn’t it?”

The creamy-sweet taste on his tongue dissolved into something more bitter, more chemical. In the weaker moments, ice cream had a way of taking him back to his childhood, to a certain ice cream wrapper that he gave to a certain person. One of the more painful memories of his past, and it must have shown on his face.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked. “Are you feeling worse?”

“What? No. Just... bad memories, that’s all.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault.”

“Anything you wanna talk about?” she probed.

He shook his head. No, nothing he could or wanted to talk about. He hadn’t even told Foggy the story with him and Stick. Not beyond the most basic facts, and not in any meaningful depth.

“Just something from my childhood I’m not particularly keen to relive.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but, uhm... Your dad died when you were young, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. When I was ten.”

“And your mother?”

“She died when I was just a baby. I don’t remember her.”

“So what happened after your dad died? Did you live with family?”

“No, there wasn’t anyone. I grew up in an orphanage.”

“And what was that like? Was it one of the nice ones?”

The question surprised Matt. Normally people immediately felt sorry when they heard orphanage, like they would automatically assume he’d had a terrible childhood. In the grand scheme of things, he’d been lucky. He’d been given a chance at having a normal, decent life, and that was more than a lot of parent-less kids these days could say for themselves.

“It was run by Catholic nuns, and my dad had left quite a bit of money, so I was cared for. It wasn’t great, but it wasn’t terrible either. You know, strict rules, not a lot of margin for coloring outside the lines.

“Wasn’t always easy, and you’re not exactly the most popular when you’re the blind kid with the—“ He only just caught himself not to say ‘heightened senses’. “...with the sunglasses and the walking cane.”

“That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun for a budding teenager.”

“And it wasn’t, not always. Probably taught me how to grow up faster than most kids. Taught me a lot of things. You know, my dad always wanted me to use my mind instead of my fists. I tried to hold on to that, made sure I put in the extra effort in school.”

“And then you decided to become a lawyer.”

“Yep. Graduated summa cum laude.”

“And you met Foggy.”

“Yeah. Best thing that could’ve ever happened to me.”

“Aw,” she said. “Does he know that?”

Matt went quiet for a moment. “I hope he does.”

“You know. I’m glad you got whatever it was between you sorted out. Life’s not the same when you’re at odds.”

“Yeah, I know. It was a little complicated there for a while.”

“But you’re okay now, right?” She put another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth.

Matt’s tub was beginning to melt in his hands. “Yeah. I mean, I hope so.”

Truth was, he wasn’t exactly sure if it really was. And it probably wouldn’t be for a long time. He knew Foggy was still trying to accept his ideas of justice and how to enforce it when the law couldn’t. But Foggy was also a good friend with a big heart. A bigger, more forgiving heart than Matt would’ve had if the roles were reversed, he was quite certain of that.

Karen began scraping at the wall of her ice cream tub with her spoon, and the sound grated on Matt’s inner ear. And as if the needle pinches in his side making a reappearance weren’t telltale enough, that alone told him that the ibuprofen was definitely wearing off. He felt his mind drifting off until Karen’s voice filtered through.

“Hey, uh, Matt? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“It’s just... you know, it’s something I’ve been thinking about, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

“What?”

“I, uh... I don’t really know how to say this, because I don’t want you to be offended.”

“What is it, Karen?”

“Do you remember when I came to visit you here, after your ‘car accident’?” She drew invisible quotation marks in the air, but didn’t explain that she did. Matt decided to ignore it, because her voice made it clear enough. “You berated me for not talking to you or Foggy before Ben and I drove out to see Fisk’s mother at the nursing home.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Well, maybe ‘berate’ is the wrong word, but it... well, truth be told, it was a little condescending. Made me feel like I’m a helpless princess who needs to be guarded at all times. And then sometimes you get so... so protective. Telling me to be careful, or not to do things on my own. I mean, I get that you worry about me, but I can take care of myself. I’m a grown woman, you know. Not a damsel in distress you need to protect or save.”

Matt stayed quiet, because he hadn’t expected this. She only knew half the story, didn’t know just how deep the rabbit hole really went. And how could he explain that his worries weren’t as unfounded as she might think without telling her the whole truth?

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. And you’re right, I was worried. With all that was going on with Fisk. He was dangerous. Still _is_ dangerous. And it’s not just Fisk. I just wanted to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“Yeah, I know that. And I get it. It’s just... I don’t know. That patronizing element. It rubbed me the wrong way, you know? Which is not to say you should stop caring. We’re both adults. We can discuss these things. On equal terms. I’d like it if we could do that in the future.”

He gave her an acknowledging nod. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. And I hope you call me on it if I do it again.”

“Yes I most certainly will.” She smiled hesitantly, then said, “Gee, look at us. I’m supposed to cheer you up. I’m doing a poor job of that.”

He held up the ice cream. “Hey, you brought ice cream. That’s a start.”

“To be fair, Foggy brought it. I was just the messenger.”

“Yes, but you’re here.”

“Oh, I bet Foggy would rather I manned the front desk right now. He hates answering the office phone. He’d never say it, but I can tell.”

Matt smiled quietly to himself, because Karen was right. Foggy wasn’t much of a phone person. Always the in-person person.

“So, uh, any good audio books you’ve listened to? I think there was an item on that list to quiz you about that.”

“Not an audio book, but I took a stab at the latest _X-Men_ movie when I couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you like it?”

He shrugged, wishing he hadn’t, because the pain from the rash almost made him wince. “Yeah, it was all right. Have you seen it?”

“Are you kidding? I love all the _X-Men_ movies! And with that cast? _Days of Future Past_ was a total winner. You know, I’d ask you if you thought Jennifer Lawrence as Mystique was hot, but...”

He gave her a grin. “She sounded hot.”

“You know she’s blue, right?”

“With scales. They said that.”

“Yeah, how does that work? Do they describe the whole movie to you? Over the dialogue?”

“No, they just narrate in between the dialogue, describing what’s happening or what things look like. Sometimes also during the dialogue if necessary, but it’s usually pretty well done. It’s a huge help.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“But, you know, it isn’t always necessary. Some movies or shows work pretty well without it. I used to have a whole set of audio tapes of _Star Trek:_ _Next Generation_ episodes I recorded off the TV. _The X-Files_ , on the other hand... Hopelessly unsuitable for the blind.”

Karen laughed out loud. “You know, I hadn’t really pegged you for the sci-fi geek type.”

“Well, geek is probably an overstatement. But as childhood role models go, Captain Picard isn’t such a bad choice.” Foggy probably wouldn’t agree, and make a passionate case for Captain Kirk in Daredevil’s name.

“Heh,” she said. “I learned something new and unexpected about Matt Murdock today.”

He put the half-eaten tub of ice cream on the couch table, then leaned against the backrest of the couch with a barely suppressed groan. With all the conversation, he hadn’t noticed just how much the painkillers weren’t doing their job anymore.

Thankfully, Karen was perceptive enough. “Okay, I think that’s quite enough talking for now. How about we go back to taking it easy for a while?”

Matt thought that was a great idea, and his body seemed to approve wholeheartedly.

“Why don’t you lie down?” Karen asked.

The rustle of her hair was back as she moved, the soft tap of her feet against the wooden floorboards. It felt familiar, like he was himself again, and not the padded-in-cotton-wool version of Matt Murdock.

She was moving away, and then coming back, putting something on the couch table within easy reach for him.

“I almost forgot about this. I got you the latest issue of National Geographic in Braille, if you’re interested in that. And Foggy gave me your iPod that you left in the office. The battery’s fully charged, and I took the liberty to redeem a $25 gift card for you. You can knock yourself out in the audio book section. See if there’s a few _Star Trek_ ones you don’t know yet, for old times’ sake. The ones by Peter David are usually top notch.”

“Thanks, Karen.”

“Are you cold? There’s a blanket here over the armrest.” She indicated it for good measure. “I put a bottle of water on the table, here, on the far right. Is there anything else I can get you? I can make you some tea if you like.”

“No, I’m okay, thanks.”

“So… uhm, do you want to take a nap? Do you want me to stay? Because I can. Or I can go. Whatever you prefer.” It sounded more than slightly awkward, but Matt was getting too tired to analyze all the intricacies of her undertones.

“You don’t have to stay, I’m sure Foggy would appreciate your assistance with the phones.”

“Is that you being honest, or you insisting you’re fine when you’re not?”

He couldn’t help but attempt a chuckle. “That’s me saying it’s fine and meaning it.”

“Okay, I’ll go back to the office. Under one condition. You text me or Foggy when you wake up, okay? Your phone’s also on the table, next to the iPod. I couldn’t find the charger, but it was still at over 30%.”

She had really put some serious thought into it, and a wave of gratitude rushed over him. “I’ll text. Thank you, Karen. For everything.”

He could tell she was smiling in return. “Any time. Feel better, okay? We miss you in the office.”

He followed her noises until the door clicked into its lock behind her, then he let himself breathe a silent sigh of relief. Yes, it was nice having someone here to care for him, but it was also exhausting and taxing, and just not the most relaxing thing to do when your nerves were on fire, and your body was trying to find that last spot that wasn’t hurting or uncomfortable yet to remedy that.

Resigning to his fate, he reached for the iPod and arranged himself on the couch in a position he thought was the least uncomfortable. He had a few episodes left of the BBC radio comedy about a charter airline he’d discovered a while ago, and that always managed to cheer him up.

It took a mere ten minutes for his eyes to droop and sleep claiming him again, the earbuds still in his ears.

+-+-+-+-+

When he woke up, it took Matt a few moments to comprehend what the pressure in his ears was, until he realized he was still wearing the in-ear phones from the iPod. He removed them, taking inventory.

The apartment was silent save for the usual hum of the fridge and the subdued whooshing of the cars outside. He’d slept through most of the radio drama. He fiddled with his phone, which told him it was now well past 5 pm. He’d slept for hours. Again. Man, this infection was really kicking the crap out of him.

He remembered Karen’s instructions from earlier, so he brought up the text message menu and dictated a message to Foggy.

It took a few minutes for Foggy to respond. ‘Dude, were you using speech recognition? You’re not making any sense.’

Matt scrolled back to his previous message and listened to the phone reading it out to him. It sounded like, ‘Still a dive. Appreciate a versing but not necessary.’

Yeah, okay, that might have been confusing. He dictated into his phone and made sure it read what it was supposed to. ‘Sorry. Still alive. Appreciate the nursing, but not necessary.’

His phone announced a new text from Foggy a moment later and read it out. ‘Not listening to you. Will be over later. With food. Any cravings?’

He replied, ‘Anything non-spicy.’

Foggy’s reply was prompt. ‘I hope you mean spicy and not pricey. Pizza ok?’

‘Pizza’s fine,’ he responded.

His phone stayed quiet after that, and he let out a sigh, not sure he was in the mood for more company.

Thankfully, Foggy wasn’t hovering when he dropped by an hour later. Matt managed half a mushroom pizza, giving Foggy his best upbeat expression he could muster. Of course Foggy saw right through it, and he didn’t even need heightened senses for that.

After Foggy had cleared away the dirty dishes and the empty pizza cartons, he sat down in one of the armchairs across from Matt. His voice was soft and sympathetic when he spoke.

“Man, I hate seeing you like this. I didn’t know herpes could knock you off your ass like this. You’re frickin’ Daredevil. If it hits _you_ this hard, I don’t wanna imagine what it does to normal people.”

“Maybe it’s hitting _me_ this hard because I’m not like normal people.”

“Yeah, this must be hell for you. I don’t even wanna imagine. Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Foggy, you’re already doing enough.”

“Yeah, sitting around, making noises, bringing smells, talking your ear off when you’d probably rather just wallow silently in your vigilante-shaped fountain of preordained guilt—“

Matt interrupted, “Bringing me food, making sure I’m comfortable, making lists for Karen, taking time out of your schedule, providing much needed distraction, not taking my shit. Do I need to go on?”

“So you’re saying I’m super awesome friend material?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“You still look like shit, and I still don’t like it.”

“And neither do I.”

“Listen, I should go, leave you to it. You should—“

“If you’re gonna say ‘get some rest’, I’m ready to strangle you.”

“That would be very un-Catholic, even for you.”

There was clear irritation in Matt’s voice. “I’ve probably slept at least sixteen out of the last twenty-four hours. I’m all slept out. My body is on fire, and I can’t even concentrate on a stupid-ass popular science magazine or a simple radio drama. I’m going stir-crazy here.”

Foggy looked amused. “Wait. Is that Matt Murdock going into a full-fledged rant? Does that even happen, like ever?”

“Not funny, Foggy.”

Foggy’s voice became more sincere. “I know. This sucks. I get it. What can I do?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem.”

“When did we become adults exactly? This used to be more fun when we were in college. I mean, what did we ever do when we weren’t studying? Oh, wait, I think that was it. You were _always_ studying. When you weren’t hitting on attractive women.”

“And you were spending a little too much time with the nerds who secretly grew weed in their grandmother’s back garden that they then smuggled on campus.”

“Oh shoot, you _knew_?”

Matt forced a grin. “Of course I knew.”

“Your super smell, huh? Probably overheard all our conversations, too.”

“Not all of them.”

Foggy lifted his arms and let them fall to the armrests. Then he pointed a finger at Matt, but his tone wasn’t malicious when he said, “By the way, I still haven’t forgiven you for the whole keeping-your-most-important-secret-from-me. That was a shitty thing to do.”

But before Matt could utter another apology, Foggy continued, “Though we’re not getting into that right now. Cause you’re sick, and you’re miserable, and I’m gonna give you a pass for that for the time being, seeing how we established I’m super awesome friend material and all.”

Matt’s attempt at a quip was lackluster at best. “Can you see me inwardly fist-bumping you from over here?”

“Yeah, and you’re wearing spiked brass knuckles for that, aren’t you?”

Matt let out a laugh, that quickly dissolved into a pained grimace. He could practically feel the concern radiating from Foggy now.

“Seriously, man, you need better meds. Or even any meds. You haven’t taken anything, have you?”

Matt drew a face. “An ibuprofen this morning.”

“Did that help?”

“A little. Also made me feel fuzzy. I hate that.”

“Seriously, Matt. What’s the lesser of evils here? I mean, really. Your misguided martyrdom is hurting the both of us right now. You know that, right? I’m this close to forcing these meds down your throat. And I mean the good stuff that only comes with an actual prescription.”

“Please, Foggy,” Matt started to plead.

“Please, _Matt_ ,” he echoed, but then Foggy dropped all the playfulness from his voice. “It is honest-to-God painful to watch you do this to yourself. There’s an actual lump in my stomach, and not in a good way. I want to hug the crap out of you right now, if it weren’t for the fact that your nerve endings blaze hellfire and I’m afraid to even touch you.”

Matt had to swallow against the emotion welling up his throat. In a meek voice, he said, “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“No, I don’t. And I probably never will. But this? This is just ridiculous.”

Matt stayed quiet for a long moment. “You can touch me. Rain check on the hug, though.”

Foggy let out a quick chuckle that could have well been a sarcastic huff. “Yeah, you kinda ruined the moment.”

They both fell silent, not sure what to say. Matt could hear Foggy’s fingernail scratching back and forth along the seam of the armrest. After a while, Foggy asked, “Would fresh air be a bad idea?”

“I’m not sure I’m up for a walk.”

“No, I was thinking more of the roof. Or would that, you know, foster your inner guilt for not being able to repeatedly hit bad people in the face right now?”

Matt shook his head. “You know that’s not how it works.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just… can’t help going there whenever I think of you in that costume. So what do you say? Roof? No roof?”

“I like it.”

Foggy raised his arms in a victory gesture. “Yay. We have a winner. But here’s the thing. First you’re taking one of these,” he rattled the ibuprofen bottle with his hand. “Then we wait another half hour, and then I wrestle your hopefully sensory-deprived ass up to the roof, and we’re gonna relish Hell’s Kitchen’s not-so soothing evening atmosphere together like grown men on a mission.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Perfect. So get crackin’.”

This wasn’t gonna be so bad with Foggy by his side. Matt swallowed the painkillers without hesitation, doubling the dose for good measure.

+-+-+-+-+

The evening trip to the roof had been a nice distraction, and he was glad Foggy had suggested it. To feel the wind on his face, the smell of the city in the air. Although the painkillers had dulled his senses, he still relished those sensations that he could feel.

Life was just a little less miserable during that hour.

But it had to end some time, and Matt insisted vehemently enough that Foggy slept in his own bed rather than his too short, too uncomfortable couch for him to actually do it.

The night was long and agonizing. He was fatigued, exhausted, but not tired enough to sleep. The pain ebbed and flowed in waves undulating between tolerable and excruciating. His bedsheets saw more tossing than actual resting that night, and Matt hated the world with a vengeance.

This had to be circle number eight, and it was only day three. In a moment of weakness, he texted Claire. He thought about a simple, ‘I’m dying, help me,’ but erased that again. Drama queen was really more Foggy’s style.

Instead, he went with a more toned down, ‘You were right when you said I was going to regret this. Any home remedies you can recommend?’ He checked the message twice for voice recognition errors before he sent it.

Of course her reply came in just when he had mercifully fallen asleep; the vibrating hum of his phone pulled him from his uneasy slumber. It was barely 5 am, and he wondered what she was doing up.

‘Maybe. Hang in there, I’ll come by.’

‘When?’

‘How about now?’

‘Shouldn’t you be asleep?’

‘Probably. Too wired. Long shift. Be there in 20.’

He breathed in a long breath, hating himself to be pulling her into this. Again. For something as trivial as not exactly dying—not even by a long shot.

Everything about Claire was like a balm to his soul, from the very moment he opened the door for her. She knew not to talk too much, ask the right questions, say the right things, softly usher him to the bedroom rather than the couch.

“Can I see?” she asked. The mattress dipped slightly as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

He wordlessly lifted up his t-shirt, and he could sense that her fingers were hovering over his skin without actually touching it. The change in air current was enough to aggravate the area, and he briefly drew his face into a grimace.

“You can feel that?”

His lips twitched. “Yeah.”

She withdrew her hands. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay. How bad does it look?”

“Bad enough that I can only imagine what it must feel like. Especially for you. It’s spread to your back. You should have called me earlier.”

“Karen was here. And Foggy. Don’t worry, I was being mother-henned enough for two lifetimes in the last 48 hours.”

“Did you see a doctor about this?”

“Believe it or not, I did. Foggy dragged me to a nearby clinic. It was my own version of hell.”

“Well, at least there’s one smart person between the two of you.”

“Hey,” he protested.

“So what did they give you?”

He pointed in the vague direction of the living room. “I think Foggy put the whole assortment on the table. Codeine, some numbing agent. An antidepressant, I think. Not sure what for.”

“No antivirals?”

“Don’t think so.”

“And which of those have you actually taken?”

“I tried the cream. And ibuprofen.”

“And let me guess. They did nothing for you.”

He cocked his head and hinted at a shrug. “Yeah, pretty much.”

She shook her head in disbelief, and before she could comment, he said, “Do me a favor? Don’t chastise me on how much of an idiot I am, because I’ve heard enough of that from Foggy.”

“Well, you _are_. But okay. It’s barely 6 am, and I suppose you deserve some respite.”

“Yeah,” he just whispered.

“So on a scale from one to ten, how bad is the pain?”

He let out a hollow chuckle, reiterating, “ _On a scale from one to ten?_ Nurse Temple much?”

“Answer the question.”

He sighed, then resigned. “I’d like to say twelve, but maybe... seven? Going on eight. It changes.”

“Have you had any other symptoms?”

“Foggy’s been hounding me about my temperature. Apparently WebMD said that running a low-grade fever is normal. It didn’t go over 102.”

She gently held the back of her hand to his forehead, and he wished the touch lasted longer than those two seconds. “You don’t feel too warm.”

“Yeah, I think it’s gone down.”

“What else? Fatigue? Joint pain?”

“That, and a headache, on and off.”

“Those are all normal,” she confirmed. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“I know you don’t wanna hear this, but your best shot at making this even halfway bearable is to stop being a hero and take the frickin’ codeine.”

“Yeah, I don’t really like that option.”

“Which I knew you would say, but anything in terms of home remedies is just a drop in the ocean at this point.” She sighed. “We can try a cooling compress. That’s the only thing I can think of that might get you any kind of immediate relief.”

The mattress shifted when she got up, and he mentally followed her roaming around the kitchen. He thought he heard the freezer door, the kitchen sink tap, a few drawers opening and closing. He didn’t question it, she knew what she was doing.

When she came back, she placed a few items next to him. He shifted his weight to give her more room.

“These are cold packs in a towel. It’s gonna work best if they’re wrapped around your torso with a bandage, to keep them in place. Do you wanna do that yourself?”

He shook his head. “I can’t see shit, remember?”

She ignored the jibe. “Okay. Let me know if it’s too tight, or too uncomfortable.”

She’d always had good hands, and exceptional judgment when it came to the handling of patients. Years of practice, he figured. He tried to concentrate on her touch rather than the pain. And it worked. To a degree.

When she was done, she briefly let one hand linger on his unaffected side for a moment. “How is that?”

“Good,” he just said, letting his body sink back into the pillows. The coolness was already permeating through the fabric to his skin, and the fiery needle sticks that had been wrapping around his trunk all day were already fading to a barely recognizable prickle. Perhaps the ninth circle of hell could be foregone, or at the very least he could stagnate in eight for a while.

A low hum of relief and pleasure formed somewhere in the back of his throat.

“I’ll take that as a good sound, and not a groan,” she said.

“Yeah, that was a good sound. This is… the best I’ve felt all day.”

“Glad I could help.”

 _You always help,_ he wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her so many things, starting with how much he missed her, now that the Daredevil suit was doing its bidding and he didn’t have her over remotely as much as he used to. Or how much she meant to him. How much he hated that there was always just the bare necessity of conversation between them, and those mostly revolving around the medical care she provided.

She’d been the first person to find out his secret identity, and she hadn’t questioned it or judged him or shied away. She was as much a confidant as she was a lifeline. He wanted her in his life, but he also didn’t want her to suffer for the choices he had made, or the choices he was going to make.

It was complicated, and would always be. He could feel her slipping away again.

“Hey,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “Can you stay? Just for a little while? Here with me?”

He knew she hesitated, but after a moment she acquiesced. “Yeah.”

She shifted over to the empty side of the bed, made herself comfortable, and he allowed himself to relax a little. Her voice was quiet when she said, “This really did a number on you, didn’t it?”

He smiled a grim smile. “Who thought the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen could be taken down by a simple viral infection.”

“There’s nothing simple about it. You know that they attribute most herpes zoster infections to stress, right? The rate you’ve been going lately, I can’t really say this is such a huge surprise.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, then said, “Do me another favor? Not berate me on my life choices right now?”

He could sense her shifting her weight. She turned to lie on her side so she could face him. “I’m sorry. I’m still in nurse mode. What you need is a friend, and I’m pretty much failing in that area right now.”

“You’re here. That’s something.”

Her hand came up to softly caress his hairline near his temple, straighten a stray strand of hair. “Dammit, Matt, I wish you knew how much I wanna kiss you right now.”

He wasn’t sure what to respond to that, and the moment of silence that followed weighed heavy in the air between them. Her heart was beating loudly and fluttery in her chest. “You do realize you just said that out loud, don’t you?” he finally asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“I…” he started, “I thought we weren’t…”

“We aren’t. Because the rational part of my brain is inexplicably, stubbornly strong. But sometimes it just hurts to look at you, and resist the urge to run my hand through your hair and kiss those damn attractive lips of yours.”

He wished she would. Right now. But she didn’t. He sighed. “Claire… I’m sorry. You don’t need to stay here. You can go if this is—“

“No,” she said softly. “We both know taking things further wouldn’t be healthy for either of us. And eventually it’d ruin what we have, and we also both know why. You asked me not to question your life choices, and here we’re back to that. I’m— I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“I wish things could be different.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

He shifted his body slightly so he could turn his head to face hers. “I know so little about you. Tell me about Claire Temple.”

Her chuckle was soft and breathy. “Do you want the short or the long version? And I’m warning you, the long version could take a while.”

“I want the honest version.”

And she began to tell him, and he listened until the world faded to a hazy gray around him that dissolved into a merciful, quiescent slumber.

+-+-+-+-+

Claire was gone by the time he woke up late the next morning. He texted with her a few times during the day. Queries regarding his state of health, a little banter. Their usual, shallow dance around the things that were conveniently left unsaid.

He kept an inquiring Foggy at arm’s length over the phone with a promise of taking some of the meds and the eternal assurance that he was okay on his own and would really prefer some alone-time. Foggy eventually relented, and that was fine by Matt, because Foggy deserved to have a life that didn’t revolve around work or caring for incapacitated vigilante friends.

He spent most of the day meandering back and forth between bed and couch. When he got too overwhelmed, he caved and went back to the valerian root extract, because that seemed to have the least detrimental effect on his senses. When he wasn’t truly sleeping, he was dozing or halfheartedly attempting to pay attention to the audio book or the DVD he was trying to distract himself with.

On day five, he thought the ninth circle of hell had definitely been breached.

Everything was aching, and it wasn’t just the constant needle pricks of the rash that was now weaving its way from his right chest all the way to his spine. On top of it, a bone-deep ache ravaged the rest of his body. He wasn’t sure if the grating noises in his joints were real or just what he imagined joints hurting this much should sound like.

Every one of his senses was on overload, and every distraction, every sound was an explosion. He was starting to hover back and forth between wishing he could just be left alone and die in solitude, or wishing Foggy would suck it up and just drop by uninvited. He spent most of the morning waiting for either to happen, because, dammit, Matt’s damn pride and independence was standing in the way of picking up the damn phone and contacting him.

At some point, he remembered the cold compresses, but then realized that he used up all the ones in the freezer, and now they were all lukewarm and useless. The thought of putting them back in the freezer took another hour to surface, because his brain was processing too much at the same time to leave room for coherent, _useful_ thoughts.

From somewhere in the room—he couldn’t even pinpoint where—his phone sounded. “Foggy. Foggy. Foggy. Foggy.” It was both too loud and too muffled.

By the time he had located it on the kitchen counter and made his way there, it had gone to voicemail. He deliberated listening to it, tapping the display blindly—too blindly; his thumb grossly misjudging where it was supposed to be. The mechanical female voice read icons and menu items to him, until he was lost in submenus he had inadvertently opened that he didn’t remember how to navigate out of.

He let out a frustrated growl, and the phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.

Shit. This was all wrong. He was never this inept.

There was another sound, vaguely familiar, but not one he readily recognized. Then it dawned on him that it was the burner phone. No one ever called him on that without being prompted.

He couldn’t remember where the Daredevil suit was, cause that’s where the phone would be. His radar was shot and he stumbled in the general direction of where he thought the sound was coming from. It had stopped by the time he even made it near the cupboard beneath the stairs.

A dog barked two stories below, and Matt jumped where he stood. The drip-drop of the rain on the window sills outside was like jackhammers to his brain, surrounding him from all sides. The hum of the fridge a constant jarring of a truck with a broken exhaust. Somewhere nearby, a couple was fighting, and he wished he didn’t have to listen to their verbal sparring.

Rain. The rain would be his savior. Rain dulled everything down, made the world go fuzzy, subtle, unobtrusive.

He found the way to the roof access without any problem, because it was second nature to him by now. The gust of wind on his face as he opened the door to the outside felt like a welcome relief. Thick raindrops pelted his face, and he stepped forward to be fully exposed to the elements.

He closed his eyes and felt the world dissolving. The rain was on his skin and in his ears and on his lips. He tilted his head back and just... let himself tumble. Not literally, although for about a second he wasn’t sure. His axis was tilting at an awkward angle, and he reached out his arms to feel the nothingness around him.

He took an unsure step back with one foot, then another, until he bumped against the wall around the edge of the roof. He leaned against it to steady himself and concentrated on the raindrops landing on his skin, the way they slid down his face, the wetness starting to seep through his clothes. The spray of heavy rain was all around him, the city’s sounds were immediately muted a notch. The contours started swimming into each other like a painting bleeding watercolor. Everything felt so much more bearable all of a sudden.

Minutes ticked by, time, temperature, and life lost its meaning. This was doable. He could stay here for a while, at least for as long as it kept raining.

He didn’t know how long he had been standing there when he heard a sound that didn’t seem to belong. It was too close, too familiar.

“Matt? Are you up here, buddy?”

It was Foggy’s voice, now Matt could hear his heartbeat. It was elevated. He wasn’t sure if from physical effort, worry, anger, deceit, or the million other emotions the human psyche tended to be inundated with. He could normally tell them apart, or at least make an educated guess, but today the acuity of his sensors was falling short.

The voice with the body attached was getting closer. “Matt. What the hell? Why are you out here in the rain?”

He didn’t want to explain himself. Didn’t want to speak—period. Too much effort. Foggy wouldn’t understand. No one understood.

Foggy drew closer, was now in front of him. Matt flinched slightly at the touch of Foggy’s hand on his bicep, and Foggy immediately withdrew it. Worry swung in his voice, and something gentle and uneasy. “Matt. You’re soaking wet. We should get you inside.”

“No,” he managed to say. “Everything’s just… too much today.”

Foggy shifted his weight, looked at him. “And how does standing out here help? I don’t get it.”

“The rain. It blurs out things.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah. I can kinda see that. But don’t you think… I mean, it’s _freezing_.”

Was it? He hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t like it mattered.

Foggy just stood here, and the rain kept coming in merciful strings of anesthesia for his senses. There was a shift in movement, Foggy moving unsurely from one foot to the other, until he finally said, “This is ridiculous. You’re coming inside. Then we’ll figure out what to do. Cause this? This isn’t healthy. For either of us.”

 _No,_ Matt wanted to yell. This was good. Or as good as any of this would get.

His voice resolute, Foggy urged Matt again, his hand gripping both his arms, and this time he didn’t let go. “Come on.”

Matt’s first instinct was to resist, to lash out. The roof was Daredevil’s territory, and he felt just a little more daring up here. But this was Foggy. Foggy was not a person to be punched, not if he only meant well and was also quite possibly right.

Foggy kept tugging, and Matt more stumbled than walked towards the roof door. An arm came around his shoulder, both careful and assertive.

The wooden stairs creaked beneath their feet, and Foggy deposited Matt on the sofa when they made it to the bottom.

Matt felt overwhelmed by the mere presence of his friend, the sensations surrounding him. Cool, moist huffs of air swirled near him whenever Foggy shifted. The waxed cotton jacket he was wearing radiated a kind of stale wet-dog odor with every movement he made. Foggy must have also eaten something with an ample amount of garlic earlier, or maybe the night before.

It was all too apparent and stifling that Foggy was hovering in front of him. “What was that up there? To be honest, you’re freaking me out a little here. What is going on with you?”

Matt shook his head. Too many questions. “It’s just… one of those days.”

“One of those days?” Foggy repeated incredulously. “Are you telling me you’re making a habit of standing on your roof in the pouring rain to drown out the world?”

“No,” he objected, letting his elbows sink to his knees. He leaned forward and rubbed his temples with his fingers. “It doesn’t usually get this bad.”

Foggy looked at him for a long moment. “Dammit, Matt,” he hissed under his breath. “You should have called me. Sometimes you can be monumentally stubborn. And stupid.”

Foggy’s voice was too loud, too grating. A sudden screech of brakes down in the street jarred him, his already overstimulated nerve endings fired times hundred, and Matt jumped. He wanted to curl in on himself, wish for temporary deafness, and not have borderline ornery conversations with Foggy. Or anyone.

It didn’t go past Foggy. Of course it didn’t, because he turned around and bent down, picking up the orange plastic bottle. “Okay, this does it. You’re taking some of the codeine, and I’m not letting you off the hook this time.”

Matt stubbornly pushed his chin forward, grinding his teeth. The truth was, he’d been toying with the idea earlier already. Because the dividing line between the lesser of evils was definitely blurring, and he wasn’t sure which side of it he was on anymore.

“No, they—“

“Make you go fuzzy. I know. I don’t care. And neither should you, because you’re suffering. Whatever it does to your senses can’t be worse than this.”

Maybe Foggy was right. _Probably_ Foggy was right. And it had gotten to the point where Matt didn’t know anymore why he was even resisting the medication.

Foggy stomped into the kitchen. Glasses clinked. The tap came on. Then Foggy reappeared in front of Matt, crouching down. “Hold out your hand.”

Matt sighed. He didn’t want to, although he wanted to—and none of that made sense to him either.

“Murdock, I swear to you, if you don’t take this pill yourself, I’m gonna force it down your throat. And it’s not gonna be pretty, and you can take my word for it that you definitely don’t want me to do that.”

“Foggy…” he feebly protested.

“Hand. Now!”

And Matt was tired of fighting—against Foggy, against his body, against the universe. So he held out his hand and threw the pill in his mouth, swallowing it down with a gulp of water.

He could hear Foggy sighing audibly in relief in front of him. “Okay, good. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Foggy got up and wordlessly got a towel from the bathroom, holding it out to Matt. “You can do this yourself, right?”

Matt thought the question was ridiculous somehow. “Foggy, I’m not an invalid.”

“Just checking. I’ll get you dry clothes too. You must be freezing.”

Funnily enough, he wasn’t. That in itself was probably worrying, but Matt had stopped questioning his metabolism-gone-haywire hours ago.

While Matt toweled off his wet hair, there was lots of roaming around on Foggy’s part. Doors and drawers opening and closing, the rustle of fabric. A pile of clothes appeared next to Matt.

“Here. Dry clothes. And tell me again why it is that your color palette is entirely restricted to shades of gray, dark blue and black. You were never this conservative in college. And with that I mean boring. You should add some color to your life.”

Matt tried to muster the energy to get up and make his way to the bathroom. “Tell me again how I’m supposed to feel if a shirt is red, green, or bright pink,” he retorted.

“There is such a thing as Braille labeling, you know? And you could ask me to go shopping with you. Or Karen. She’d probably get a real kick out of it.”

“You know how much I hate the mall.”

The playfulness was gone from his voice when Foggy said, “Hey.” Matt realized that he was standing in front of him, holding out his hand. “Up with you.”

Matt breathed in a long breath through his nose and swallowed his pride. He let Foggy pull him up, pondering how it was that he always seemed to know just what Matt needed.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

Foggy thrust the pile of clothes into his hands. “Bathroom’s that way.”

“Very funny.”

Foggy lifted his arms in a mock apologetic gesture. “Hey, I try.”

The underwear and sweat pants felt scratchy on his skin as he put them on; heavier too. Everything was more aggravating today, and the pain in his side was still as bad as before. He hissed as he let his fingers run across the affected area, feeling the fresh and scabbed over blisters. He should probably do something about those.

He vaguely recalled Claire saying something about antibiotic ointment from her own stash that she left for him. He opened the bathroom door a notch. “Foggy?”

“Present,” he answered.

“There should be some kind of antibiotic cream in the living room. Can you find that for me?”

Foggy took a moment, then said, “Yep, got it.” He handed it to Matt through the partially open door. “Need some help with that?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure you really wanna—“

“Nonsense. That’s what I’m here for,” Foggy protested. “I’m giving you license to use and abuse me.”

The bathroom was a little crowded with the two of them in it, and Foggy audibly gulped when he saw the state of Matt’s torso. “Dude, that’s, like, so nasty. No wonder you’re in agony.”

“Stop staring at it.”

“I’m not staring.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, maybe I am. A little. I don’t know how to touch that. I mean, looking at it alone makes me cringe times seven.”

“Just do it, Foggy. It’ll help.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“What if it hurts? Like, really hurts?”

“It already does.”

“Shit,” Foggy muttered, then said, “Okay. I’m doing this. All right?”

Matt closed his eyes and drew in a long breath that he held. He tried to anticipate Foggy’s touches, tried to flinch as little as possible. It seemed to take forever, and he was right inside the blazing center of the ninth circle of hell.

Foggy kept saying he was sorry whenever Matt winced, and Matt told him to stop apologizing after the third time. When he was finally done, Foggy sank down on the closed toilet seat. “Okay. That wasn’t fun. In fact, that was, like, the antithesis of fun. I wanna find every last remnant of this virus and burn the last shred of life out of it before it can do this to another person.”

Matt carefully put on a t-shirt, trying not to aggravate the area too much. “Technically, it’s not even alive to begin with. Viruses are just bits of DNA encased by a protein shell.”

“Yeah, don’t smartass me, okay? This virus needs to die the fuck out.”

“You don’t see me arguing.”

“Are the meds kicking in yet?”

Matt cocked his head slightly. “Yeah, I think they actually are starting to.”

Foggy gave him a sympathetic look. “Is it helping?”

Matt nodded. “Yes. I might actually survive this.”

“See? And only because you listened to me, you dumbass.”

Matt gave him an appreciative smile. “What would I do without you?”

“Slowly die in agony up on the roof in the rain, probably. From pneumonia or sensory overload. Or both.”

Matt’s voice was honest, filled with emotion. “Thanks, Foggy. For all of this.”

Foggy got up to leave the bathroom. “Any time. I’ll order us some take-out. How about that?”

“Chinese.”

Foggy pointed at him. “Affirmative.”

+-+-+-+-+

Matt slept for ten hours straight, and when he woke up, he couldn’t fathom how his body could demand this much of it.

It was when he sat up on the edge of the bed that he fully realized just how much everything was off. There was no mental image of his surroundings, no sense of where objects were—living or otherwise. The absence of noise in his head was suffocating. This was what being blind truly was, and it stifled him.

He swayed slightly as he got up, wishing he had his cane. How was he supposed to find his way around?

No, he thought, this was ridiculous. He knew this place, knew where things were without being able to sense them. He should be able to get around his own apartment, for goodness’ sake.

He took a few tentative steps forward, reaching out with his hands for the edge of the sliding door. He found he’d misjudged its location by about ten inches.

“Foggy?” he called out, because for the life of him, he couldn’t tell if his friend was still here or not. The sound echoed hollowly around the living room space with no reply.

Matt stumbled into the bathroom, taking twice as long for his usual tasks, and he was smart enough not to attempt shaving. The one good thing about this, however, was that the pain was still bearable. Maybe he was over the worst of it now, _hopefully_ he was.

When he opened the bathroom door, there was Foggy’s familiar voice greeting him. “Good, you’re up. Perfect timing, buddy. I just got us breakfast.”

Matt inched forward, his steps cautious and short for fear of bumping into anything. When his toes hit the edge of the rug, he briefly stopped, trying to imagine where the armchairs were. He may have held his arms out in front of him for good measure. Foggy was perceptive enough to notice.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

Frustration swung in Matt’s voice. “No, I’m not okay. I told you those meds would mess with my senses.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Do you know where my cane is?”

“You seriously need your cane to navigate around your own apartment?”

This was humiliating, even without Foggy stating the obvious. “Yes, Foggy, apparently I do. I can’t see a damn thing, and I’m not talking about light perception.”

It must have sounded huffy and maybe a little too harsh, because Foggy said, “Sorry, I just… Hold on. Your cane is here.”

A moment later, Foggy’s hand lightly touched Matt’s, pushing the cane into it. Matt started tapping it in front of him to find his way to the fridge. He was parched, his throat felt like sandpaper.

Everything about this was awkward, from trying to pinpoint the handle of the fridge door to feeling around for the right bottle inside. He walked over to find one of the chairs to sit down.

Foggy sat down in the other chair and unwrapped the food he’d brought. Matt couldn’t tell what exactly it was, and it was already annoying him. This was the kind of helplessness he never wanted to experience. He’d come to rely on his senses so much that being deprived of them was a shock to the system.

Thankfully, Foggy knew how this worked, or at least guessed that he needed to put in the extra effort today. “Okay, so there’s a cream cheese bagel. Plain, no extras. Poppy seed bagel with ham and cheese. Which one do you want?”

He already knew nothing would taste right today, he might as well just pick the plain bagel. “Cream cheese sounds good.”

“Okay, here, it’s in front of you. Americano at your 2 o’clock. Two sugars, no milk. I’ve taken off the plastic lid.”

Matt blinked, probing with his hand until he felt the paper cup, taking a sip. It tasted bitter with a hint of sweetness—that was all his taste buds could discern from the hot beverage. The bagel might just as well have been cardboard. He obediently chewed his way through it, because, yes, he was actually hungry, now that the constant pain was dulled down somewhat.

Foggy was trying hard to be conversational, chatting on about the headway he and Karen had made with their current case in the last couple of days. Matt smiled politely and tried to supply the occasional affirmation. It seemed to work, or maybe Foggy was just pretending for Matt’s sake. He couldn’t tell.

Matt reached for the coffee cup again—and misjudged the distance. The half-full cup toppled over, spilling hot liquid everywhere. “Shit,” Matt let out, pushing his chair backward.

Foggy jumped up immediately, rushed over to the kitchen. He came back with a roll of paper towels, that Matt all but snatched from him to start dabbing at the pool of liquid on the table. It was awkward at best, because he couldn’t really tell where to wipe to get it all.

Foggy crouched down to work on the floor, and Matt almost tripped over him, sending him staggering to the side.

“Dammit, Foggy!”

“Matt, relax. I’ve got this, okay? Let me do it.”

Matt’s arms dropped to his sides, because this was what he hated most of all. The condescension and the overbearing, and the let-me-help-the-poor-blind-guy attitude. He threw the wad of soggy paper towels onto the table where it landed with a splat. His voice was acerbic when he spoke. “Yeah, _you_ do it. Cause clearly I’m clumsy and incapable.”

Foggy kept mopping for a moment, then drew himself up to his full height. “Come on, you know that’s not fair.”

“Yeah. You’re just trying to help. You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that one before.”

“No need to get your panties all in a bunch. It’s just a bit of spilled coffee. No big deal.”

“This,” Matt said vehemently, pointing in the general direction of the table, “This is why I hate taking prescription narcotics. This is why I shouldn’t have let you talk me into it in the first place!”

Foggy raised his voice to match Matt’s. “Let me remind you that, last night, you were a skittish train wreck about to go into full-fledged nervous breakdown. If anything, I did you a favor, pal. To hell with the sucky side effects. I mean, clearly, any second now, you’re gonna remind me once again that I don’t understand, and I don’t know what it’s like, and that Matt Murdock would rather die than let his guard down for one fucking minute and, God forbid, let people help him!”

What followed was like the deafening silence after a particularly violent clap of thunder.

Matt stood rooted to the spot. “Screw you,” he spat, trying to keep that ugly feeling of pent-up rage from bubbling up any further. He didn’t dare move, because he wasn’t sure where his cane was, and he didn’t trust himself to walk away without it.

“Yeah, screw me.” Foggy’s voice was sad and resigned as he walked to the trash can to get rid of the dirty paper towels. “You know, Matt, after everything, this ranks pretty high on the scale of shitty things to say to Foggy Nelson.”

The lid of the trash can snapped shut with a finality that Foggy built upon. He went into the hallway and grabbed his jacket off the hook on the wall, calling over to Matt, “I will probably have forgiven and forgotten about this by tomorrow, cause that’s how much of a chump I really am, but today you’re on your own. Call Karen if you need help, or your hot nurse friend. I’m done with this. Have a nice life.”

Matt wanted to call after Foggy, he really did, but the words just wouldn’t come out. The apartment door clicked softly into its lock as if to mock him. He took a step forward and collided with one of the chairs, his stubbed toe paying the momentary price.

He hated this, hated all of it, hated how it was putting yet another wedge between him and his best friend. In a moment of unbridled fury, he picked up the chair and hurled it across the room with a cry of rage. It crashed down somewhere in the kitchen, and there was glass breaking and things clattering to the floor.

He paid them no heed, he could clean that up later. All he could do was lean forward with his palms on the table, breathing hard. Maybe it was time he left this sordid place for a while to pay Father Lantom a visit.

+-+-+-+-+

By the time he made it to the church, he realized just how not up to par he still was. The hundreds of needles in his side were back with a vengeance, and it was all he could do not to collapse with a groan in one of the pews.

His senses were slowly coming back, but everything was sluggish and took extra effort—from navigating curbs and traffic lights, to passing people, avoiding bumping shoulders of impatient New Yorkers. He was exhausted, and frustrated, and very much not himself.

He chose a seat near the front of the church. The whooshing of the cars was less pronounced here, and the air currents were different. More soothing. The faint, lingering scent of frankincense draped around him like a blanket, and it reminded Matt of Christmas mass and chaotic nativity plays. Everything had seemed so much simpler in those early days.

A bone-deep exhaustion washed over him, derailing him and robbing him of his last shred of control. He folded his arms on the backrest of the pew in front of him, letting his forehead sink down on them. His cane clattered to the floor, but he didn’t care, didn’t have the energy to pick it up.

The minutes ticked by, quiet and forlorn, and then Matt jumped when a hand was touching his shoulder.

The hand withdrew immediately, and it took Matt two seconds to realize that it was Father Lantom.

“My apologies,” the gravelly, yet gentle voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Matt countered and straightened in his seat, his face contorting in the briefest of pained grimaces. “I was…”

“Lost. In thought. I understand. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“Yes. I’ve had some things to consider, things that needed time.”

“You know, I worry about you, Matthew.” It didn’t sound pitying or condescending. Just a fact. A fatherly notion. It was comforting.

“There’s no need for that. I can take care of myself.”

The priest sat down in the pew ahead of Matt. “Oh, I never doubted that. But that’s not what I mean, and I think you know that. That black cloud shrouding your soul—one day, it’s going to pull you under if you’re not careful.”

Matt let out a dismissive breath. “It’s already clapped its thunder for the day. I think it may start pouring down on me any second.”

“I have a pretty sturdy umbrella over there in the vestry. Big enough for two.”

He wished he could find consolation in the comment. “I fear this is the kind of storm that’ll blow the umbrella right out of your hands.”

Father Lantom was quiet for a long moment. “Why do I get the feeling that all we ever talk about are equivocal, badly chosen metaphors?”

“Because that’s all I can give you.”

“No, it’s all you _choose_ to give me.”

Matt recalled one of the last conversations they’d had. “Do you remember when we talked about the struggle you thought I was facing? About the better angels of my nature. That struggle, I think I may be losing it.”

“But you’re still fighting. That’s saying something.”

“I’m not so sure anymore. All the fighting, I realized that… that I couldn’t do it alone. And for a while, I wasn’t. But now… Now things have become complicated, and just when I think I’ve got it figured out, the next shoe drops, and I’m way down underwater without a life buoy.”

Father Lantom’s face drew into a slight smile. “Oh, but this is where you’re wrong, Matthew. What you’re describing, that’s life. That’s the struggle we all face time and again.”

He wanted to object, because what did his priest know about his life, his struggles? But he didn’t, for it seemed wrong, and the man was radiating wisdom and trust like no one else he’d ever known.

Father Lantom continued, “If I may be frank here for a moment, you strike me as a man who may not always be comfortable to ask the right people for help. Have you considered that there might just be someone standing at the railing, ready to throw that life buoy down to you?”

Matt pondered the advice for a bit. It was almost frightening how close to home he was hitting. Sadness swung in his voice when he said, “It may be too late for that.”

“It’s never too late for that. All it takes is the courage to reach out and hope for a positive answer, and the strength to do it all over again if it’s not.”

Strength. He wished he had more of it. Not the physical kind, that had never been his problem. As Daredevil, he knew how to get back up when you were already as good as defeated, get up and get the next punch in. As Matthew Murdock, he lacked in all the areas that Daredevil did not. And he didn’t have the slightest inkling how to fix that.

The priest pulled him from his reverie. “This is going to sound a little cliché, but I can recommend certain people you can talk to.”

“No,” Matt quickly protested. “No, that’s not what…”

“I understand. But if you ever need to…”

“Thank you, Father.”

“Will you be all right?”

Matt gave him as much of an encouraging smile as he could muster. “Yes. I think I can see a few rays of sun shining through that storm cloud.”

“Well, hold on to those. They might just guide you to where you need to go.”

+-+-+-+-+

When he left the church, he started wandering aimlessly. He wished he could just go to the gym and start punching sandbags, because that was as much an outlet as it was a distraction. But he was also smart enough to know that wasn’t the best idea in the physical state he was in.

It was only when he rounded the familiar street corner, that he realized where his feet had taken him. Their office. A sign, maybe? Matt didn’t believe in that stuff, not really. Yet here he was.

He pondered turning around, just going home and letting things lie. But then he remembered Lantom’s words. Maybe this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

His own heart was pounding by the time he walked up the stairs to the office. The closer he got, the more he tried to get a picture of what Karen and Foggy were doing.

When he was near enough, everything seemed to be business as usual. Karen was typing something at her desk. Foggy was in his office, from the papery scraping noises reading something on a printout. Their heartbeats were even and familiar. It made Matt feel like he could brave this, take the first step.

When he opened the door to their office, it wasn’t at all surprising to hear Karen’s cheerful, happy voice. “Matt! You’re here! How are you feeling?”

He gave her a good-natured smile. “Good. Well,” he quickly corrected himself, “Better.”

“That’s great to hear. Are you staying?”

“For a bit, maybe. To get caught up on the case.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. I think Foggy can help you with that.”

He had a feeling that Foggy hadn’t told Karen about their previous run-in. And that added extra awkwardness he was hoping to avoid. Too late now to turn back.

It was only now he realized he didn’t have his laptop on him, or any other work related equipment. All the things he’d need to do any actual work were in his apartment. And so he would have to face Foggy, because as it was, he didn’t have any excuse to go into his own office.

Suddenly he wished he had rehearsed this, because his brain was drawing a complete blank. More than ever, he wanted to turn around and run. It took all of his willpower to enter the office to his right.

Foggy was sitting at his desk, busy with something. Or pretending to be. Matt stopped a few steps from the door, at a loss for words. The seconds ticked by.

“So, you just gonna stand there, or what?” Foggy challenged.

“No, I, uh...”

“Don’t know what to say? That’s a first.”

Matt let out an impatient breath. “Foggy, I’m sorry.”

“Spare me the apologies, all right? Cause I’ve surely heard enough of them from you lately. I can’t even tell if you mean it anymore.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say. That I shouldn’t have snapped at you? That after everything you’ve done, you didn’t deserve that? That I’m a shitty friend?”

“That you’ve got that damn, misguided hero complex that you don’t know how to switch off?”

Matt sighed. “Look, I’m here. I’m trying. At least you could _try_ to extend an olive branch…?”

Foggy shrugged derisively. “Yeah, cause apparently I’m such a chump, right?”

“No. This isn’t on you. None of it is. And I don’t know why I keep doing this, why I keep…” he trailed off.

“Pushing people away. You can say it.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Matt, I’ve never seen you this bad. College wasn’t always easy, but we made it through that. But ever since… since you’ve become… who you are now, what you do, it’s like you carry the whole damn world around on your shoulders. It doesn’t have to be that way. And I just wish… I wish you could see that.”

Matt’s forehead contorted into a frown, his chin twitching with a rush of emotion he hadn’t expected. He struggled to control it, tried to quickly rearrange the mask. “But that’s the thing. I don’t think you fully understand the magnitude of it.”

“You know what doesn’t help? That you keep reiterating that I don’t understand. Well, then _make_ me, instead of insisting that it has to be you, and you alone.”

Matt shook his head ever so slightly. “I don’t know how.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

Matt took a step closer to Foggy’s desk. “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done. It’s more than I could have ever asked of a friend.”

“Bullshit. You’re practically family. I don’t know why you keep saying shit like that. Murdock, for one damn minute, can you please just suck it up and get over those self-esteem issues of yours? I’m in it for the long haul, and I really don’t get how that hasn’t penetrated your brain in all those years.

“I mean, why would you even say you’re undeserving and unworthy and all that stuff? You’re one of the bravest, strongest people I know, and that’s even without the whole Daredevil thing. You’re a kickass lawyer, and I’ve never seen anyone study as hard for it as you did. Cause you had to work twice as much to get there, and you graduated summa cum fucking laude.”

Matt’s brows knitted together. His mouth twisted to the side and his teeth dug into his lower lip so hard that it hurt. He gave it his best attempt to keep the tears at bay that he knew were prickling just beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure he was ready to speak.

Foggy came to his rescue. “Aaaand,” he dragged out the vowel, “that was not at all what I thought I would say when you dragged your sorry ass in here, but there you go.”

Matt’s voice was laden with raw emotion when he spoke. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

Foggy dismissed it with the wave of a hand. “And that in itself tells me that, if anything, you need more friends in your life. So can you please just promise me to try harder not to piss those off that you already have?”

Matt let out a little chuckle that might have also been a chocking sound. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Okay, good. Glad we cleared that up. Plus, we’ve confirmed once again that I’m a total chump.”

“You’re not a chump, Foggy.”

“Well, yes, I am, but you know what? I don’t mind. And I should probably also ask you how your shingly thing is?”

“My shingly thing?”

“Yeah, you know, those super nasty, painful blisters that look like someone tried to burn a marking line around half your torso with a culinary torch.”

“Thank you for the reminder. I had almost forgotten, seeing how my skin is constantly on fire.”

Foggy’s face drew into a pained grimace. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, Foggy. I think I’m over the worst of it.”

“Yeah, yesterday wasn’t fun, was it?”

“Ninth circle of hell.”

“As if I couldn’t tell. What number are we talking today?”

“Eight, maybe? Going on seven.”

Foggy nodded. “That’s good.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“And that’s just how I’d like to keep it. Cause if you gave that shit to me, I’m so gonna sue you.”

Matt chuckled. “I don’t think you can sue someone for giving you an infection. Not when there’s no malicious intent.”

“Watch me.”

“I’d rather not. You know I don’t have any assets. Except for a puny law firm that doesn’t seem to be making any profit.”

Foggy pointed at Matt. “Talking of which, wasn’t that what you came here for? Getting an update on our case. Our potentially halfway lucrative case. With actual paying clients. Pull up that chair and let’s get crackin’.”

And Matt gladly did so.

+-+-+-+-+

It took another week for Matt to feel like is normal self again, to not wince every time he moved around, to stop using the numbing lotion and the cold compresses. But he put on a brave face and went to work every day. Sometimes just a few hours, in the last few days back to full time.

Foggy handled most of the court related and other more strenuous activities until Matt was well enough to join him, even though of course Matt had protested often enough that it wasn’t necessary. Foggy wouldn’t have any of it, and Matt was smart enough not to push too hard—for both his and Foggy’s sake.

The next weekend, he made sure that everyone had their schedules cleared for Saturday evening, including Claire. Foggy’s insistence on the importance of friends had left a lasting impression, and he’d decided to do something that he didn’t do often, but that he figured maybe he _should_ do more often.

Because not a lot of people actually knew this, but Matt Murdock was quite a skilled chef when he put his mind to it. Most of the time, of course, it was just him, and what was the point of spending hours in the kitchen when he was going to eat alone and in silence? Not this time, though.

The clerk, Julie, from the supermarket around the corner greeted him with a cheerful, “Oh, hello Mr. Murdock. The usual for you today?”

“No, actually I need a few special things today.”

She helped him pick out all the best and freshest vegetables and extra items he needed. Matt’s rugged charm worked every time, which was why the apples in his fruit bowl never had any dents. For the more exotic ingredients, he stopped by the nearby deli on the way back to the apartment.

Back home, he began to get to work, realizing that he really wouldn’t mind doing this more often. The skinning of vegetables had a certain soothing quality to it, and he enjoyed the music he’d put on in the background.

Two hours later, the guests arrived, all three within five minutes of each other. There was cheery banter, introductions, hugs, and handshakes. It was the first time that Claire met Karen; she’d only met Foggy twice before.

In the living room, Foggy aptly commented, “Hold on, since when did your family of chairs expand from two to four?”

“Since I a certain someone reminded me that I need to make sure I’m not pissing off my friends. And I figured that not having two of them sitting on the floor would be a good start.”

Foggy pointed an index finger at Matt. “Smart man.”

“Please sit down,” Matt instructed them. “Dinner’s about to be served.”

Foggy wanted confirmation. “So this is actual, cooked-from-scratch food?”

“Come on, _you_ of all people should know that I can cook.”

“Yes, I do. Pretty damn spectacularly, come to think of it. I just never see you do it anymore.”

“And we’re about to change that.”

To keep up appearances, Matt put the plates with the hors d'oeuvre on the kitchen counter, and Karen offered to help with distributing them on the table. Claire took care of the wine. Soon everyone was digging in, complimenting Matt on his cooking skills.

At some point Karen asked, “So, Matt, you and Claire, how did you two meet?”

Claire looked at Matt, and he wasn’t sure if she was hoping for a cue. Matt quickly answered, “She helped me out when I was in a bit of a bind. Pretty much saved my life.”

“Oh wow,” Karen said. “Guess we’ll have to thank you, then.”

“Here, here,” Foggy cut in.

Karen looked from Matt to Claire and back. “So, are you two… you know… an item?”

They both said, “No!” at the same time, and there was an awkward pause, and more awkward half-laughs to cover it up.

Foggy clapped his hands together. “Okay then. Change of topic. Did Matt mention that we won a case this week?”

Claire raised her eyebrows. “No, he didn’t. Though I thought that was what lawyers normally get paid for.”

Foggy shrugged slightly. “Yeah, well, we’re only just starting to figure this out. Right, Murdock?”

“Yes, thanks, Foggy, for ruining the reputation I had so meticulously built.”

Foggy lifted his arms apologetically. “Sorry, dude. Just stating the ugly truth.”

Claire looked at Foggy and Karen. “So, how did you all meet?”

That prompted Foggy to look at Matt. “You or me?”

Matt smiled. “You do the honors. There’s a main course I need to take care of.”

Foggy met Claire’s eyes. “Oh boy. That’s kind of a long story. Very sordid. Lots of bad college humor and potential for embarrassment. Not sure you wanna hear it.”

A mischievous smile tugged at Claire’s lips. “Well, _now_ I do!”

Karen also grinned. “I don’t know this one either.”

Foggy shot her a chastising glance. “Yes, you do.”

“Not the college humor and embarrassment part.”

Matt cut in from behind the kitchen counter. “Yeah, I’d like to hear that part too. Cause all _I_ remember is studying, tests, and ramen noodles.”

“Come on,” Foggy said, “You _have_ to remember the frat party. You know, the one with the egg nog and the, uhm…”

Matt’s mouth spread into a knowing smile. “Inflatable swimming pool?”

“Yes!” Foggy said triumphantly.

There was lots of laughter around the table when both Matt and Foggy recounted all the best memories from their days in law school.

After finishing the last bites of his dessert, Matt leaned back in his chair and soaked up all the positive energy. This was fun. Comfortable. Good. The first time in months that he felt true happiness was within reach.

He was glad he’d listened to Father Lantom and followed the sun rays that had eventually freed him from the trap of the circles of hell. He vowed to hold on to that feeling for a long time.


End file.
